


Aftermath

by imaginary_golux



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Gen, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 03:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6453016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_golux/pseuds/imaginary_golux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a kinkmeme prompt: After a battle, Poe gives an exhausted Rey a bath.</p><p>Beta by my Best Beloved, Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

Poe has to carry Rey back to the ship; she’s exhausted, limp in his arms (and so worryingly light), but her grin is triumphant even as her head lolls against his shoulder. Well, she has reason to be proud; _she_ may be limp with weariness, but her erstwhile opponents (three of them, _three_ , and Poe unable to help her effectively against Force-users had cursed the air blue as they fought) are corpses now, and the ranks of the Knights of Ren are thinning fast.

“Need a _bath_ ,” she slurs as he stops to open the door to her room, Chewbacca already piloting them expertly off of the planet, and Poe pauses - it’s true that she’s covered in dust and blood (most of it not hers), but she’s also _far_ too tired for him to feel comfortable leaving her alone in the tub. Having the Hope of the Galaxy (as the PR people have dubbed her) drown ignominiously in a bath out of exhaustion would be...bad.

“You’re in no condition to bathe yourself,” he points out; then, as she gathers her strength to object, adds, “But I could bathe you, if you’re okay with that.”

“Sure,” says Rey, letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. “Trust you. Bath.”

“Bath,” Poe agrees, and turns his steps towards the refresher. Rey manages to stay on her feet long enough for him to get her clothes off, then slumps into his arms again. Poe sits on the edge of the tub to turn it on, inspects her injuries while it fills. There’s a nasty scrape down one arm, a cut on one leg - already cauterized, the only good thing about lightsabers - that’s going to scar, bruises rising on her fair skin so that she’s going to be mottled for a while. There’s a particularly nasty bruise on her back - a bad fall, one that put Poe’s heart in his throat as he watched helpless from the illusory safety of a rock outcropping - that’s going to be really unpleasant if she leans against the hard side of the tub, so Poe gets a hand free, tugs a towel over and folds it awkwardly and uses it to pad the tub side before he lowers her very gently into the warm water. Rey leans back against the towel, lets her head loll back, and sighs in contentment.

“Temperature okay?” Poe checks.

“Mmmmm, yeah,” Rey says, her eyes drifting closed. That right there is why Poe is not letting her bathe by herself.

Her washcloth is the green one, as she had explained to him very carefully when he first came aboard a week ago - she’s a little possessive of her things, which is perfectly understandable - and the tall brown bottle of shampoo is Chewbacca’s, so he avoids it; presumably Rey does not want to smell like a Wookiee. But the green bottle and the blue bottle are both his.

“Where’s your shampoo?” he asks curiously.

“Mmm?” says Rey, clearly half-asleep already. “Soap.”

“You just use soap?” Poe asks, mildly appalled, and grabs the green bottle, which is bodywash, because life is too short to not treat yourself when you can. It smells like apples, and Rey makes a soft happy noise when he pours some onto her washcloth, so Poe figures that’s as good a sign as he’s going to get. He starts with her hand, because that’s the closest bit, washes carefully between her fingers and runs the cloth up to her shoulder with long, easy strokes, and she hums again and relaxes even further, until he’s honestly a little worried that she might slide bonelessly under the water.

“Gonna get your face,” he tells her, and she makes a sleepy noise of agreement, holds still trustingly as he carefully wipes the blood and dust from her cheeks and forehead, taps her softly on the nose with one finger just to make her wrinkle it and smile. She actually lifts her other arm so he can reach it; Poe’s a little surprised she’s still awake enough to move. She lifts her leg, too, when he’s finished washing carefully down her torso, finding new bruises with every sweep of the washcloth (his sleeves getting soaked, but he doesn’t actually care), wiggles her toes at him and giggles when he runs a finger gently along the bottom of her foot.

“Ticklish, hm?” Poe murmurs, grinning to himself. Somehow he didn’t expect the ex-scavenger Jedi Hope of the Galaxy to be ticklish. It seems undignified. He has a brief moment of wondering whether _Luke Skywalker_ is ticklish, and then carefully blocks that thought out of his mind, because some things are just not for mortal men to know. He concentrates on washing Rey’s legs, instead, careful of the wound on the one, and then coaxes her to lean forward briefly so he can gently, gently wash her back. Force, but that bruise is going to be _nasty_.

“C’mon,” he says finally, gets an arm around her back and one under her knees, lifts her very carefully out onto the mat and wraps her in a huge towel while he drains the tub and hunts down some antiseptic cream and bandages. She leans against the side of the tub and watches him through half-closed eyes, curled in the towel and looking maybe twelve, hair all wet and straggling down over her cheeks. (Poe figured the hair could wait until tomorrow, once he’d rinsed it - the way she keeps it tied up, it didn’t get too dirty anyhow.)

Poe very carefully pats her dry, puts the cream on her arm and her leg and bandages them, makes a mental note to drag her to medical when they get back to base, since she won’t go on her own - too used to making do, to looking strong even when she’s not - and wraps her up in another enormous towel, and carries her carefully back to her room.

She curls up in bed like a child, surrounded by pillows - one behind her, one in her arms, one under her head - and Poe tucks the blankets around her and kisses her gently on the forehead. “Sleep, hero,” he says softly. “You done good.”

“Mmm,” says Rey faintly. “Thanks, Poe.”

“Anytime,” Poe says, quite honestly, and steps away from the bed, but she flails an arm out and grabs his hand.

“Stay,” she says.

Poe shrugs out of his wet shirt, dims the lights, and sits down on the edge of the bunk, leans back against the wall and takes her hand again, and sits smiling into the darkness and listens to Rey breathe long and slow, keeps the watch while she sleeps, her hand warm and trusting in his own.


End file.
